Laugh
by Martyr of Musique
Summary: The team are struggling in Dustbowl. It doesn't help that Demo's gone and lost a stupid bet..


**Laugh**

* * *

"Mother of mercy!"

Shocked screams tailed the RED team as they legged it back quickly around the corner, an ubered Heavy on their heels.

Well, more "pegged it" in Demo's case. As Pyro shuffled off up the stairs to patch themselves up by the dispenser (poor prick got it right in the arse), Tavish and Soldier were left to lumber back up to the sentry behind the bridge.

It only took less than a second before they heard the Russian's roaring baritone swinging round the corner, the whirr of their sentry swivelling towards its target, making the two men jolt and hurriedly dive out of the firing range with milliseconds to spare.

Speeding up their frantic pace, groaning and wheezing all the while from the sudden burst of exhilaration, the injured pair ducked past the furiously-working Texan and let out a pained sigh.

"Dear God that was close.." breathed Soldier, slumped against their cover.

"..Aye..ye aren't half right about that.." his friend gasped in reply, grimacing from the shrapnel imbedded in his legs.

The American slowly pushed himself back off the wall they were braced against and turned to lay his rocket launcher to the floor, reaching to his back with a wince as he unhooked his shotgun. He shakily reloaded, then called sharply over the din of bulletfire to their stout friend.

"Engineer, permission to leave my weapon in your capable hands while I find that poncy Kraut?"

A barely noticeable nod came from the smaller man's direction as he continued to fight back against the ubered pair, looking up briefly as the Pyro hopped down from the ledge above them. The handful of ammo they'd grabbed from the now cut-off dispenser would save them for now, but there was no chance of getting back the healing supplies until they pushed the enemy back.

With an affirmative nod to Engineer, the Soldier exhaled heavily and straightened up, visibly trying not to wince at the steadily weeping wound in his abdomen.

"Medic! Agh..where is that man?..Dammit.."

"Heh..he don't look to be near Respawn," Demo answered, scanning about them with a tired chuckle, "..maybe him an' Heavy went through the tunnels mate?"

Groaning, the man hobbled off with a muttered thanks.

The Scot stayed, not really feeling like staggering after him with two legs full of lead. He glared down at the battered, wooden shaft he'd fixed his foot into, cursing himself again that morning for losing that stupid bloody bet..

'Outrun me he says, I'll give ya me bloody Treasure Hat he says….fucking Christ, why did ah go and let myself get so drunk?'

Staring down at the pirate accessory with a baleful look, Tavish's features twisted into a snarl.

'Wee prick, a whole day stuck like this..'

A woop from the Engineer dragged him away from his thoughts, the Demo turning to watch the Pyro jump up and down with a cheer while the texan continued to bray heartily down the lane.

'Heh, the fat bastard and his little squeeze must be dead then..

Good!'

With renewed spirits, he swung his hand round with an all too familiar gesture, bringing back a bottle of miraculously untouched Scrumpy (considering it was in range of that rampaging, radgey giant).

Fiery comfort wet his lips as he up-ended the bottle, tipping a large helping down his throat to soothe the pain. The wonderful flowing buzz that melted away his daily itch set the man back in better spirits, his face splitting into an bloodthirsty grin as he sheathed the bottle, calloused fingers brushing up cool steel to the pommel of his claymore. Sliding it down from over his shoulders, he felt grim determination settle over him once again as his feet shifted into their stance. The scrape of the peg leg on stone was still an awkward feeling, but he shrugged it off with the dull, ebbing wave of pain.

"Sides..," he muttered under his breath, "I'm nothing if not a man of me word," grimacing slightly as the onset of the alcohol began to pull on his co-ordination.

"Oi Engie, d'ye reckon it's clear enough to save that little toolbox of yours?" he began, approaching his sentry.

"Sure as don't look like anybody's moving up anytime soon," the man remarked good-naturedly, swapping out a wrench from his overalls and crouching down to fix a broken leg on his gun. "Mr. Mundy should be watching out for us from the tower anyhow," he continued, motioning to the building behind them.

Craning his neck up to the overcast landing with a squint, the Scot felt the firebug stand next to him, looking up beside him and giving the platform a small wave.

A few seconds, and then a glint of a scope shone back down in acknowledgement at the trio.

Reassured, the Demoman grinned. "Ay, that'll about do it for me!" he laughed, hefting his imposing heirloom back into position.

The firestarter gave out a resounding bark of agreement, then widened their stance in reponse, swinging their flamethrower up alongside Demo eagerly.

Peeking around the corner, the pair sneaked off down the lane to the stairs, the sound of Engie tending his sentry spurring them on to move up along the path to reclaim the lost dispenser.

Dog-legging up the steps with a now evident hobble, the two scuttled into the shelter, a fully-healed Pyro bringing up the rear. Finding the dispenser still intact, the Scot released a sigh of relief. And from the look of it, the stash of ammo hidden in the grates was untouched too.

'Thank fuck..'

The Scot searched through the drawers, wasting no time in picking out bullets and administering morphine. Probably not the best combination when mixed with alcohol..

'..eh fuck it. Ah'm drunk!'

An impatient noise came from the stairs as the man roughly stuck another syringe into his thigh.

"..eh, what? Ah, alright..C'mon, let's get it down before the French tart comes along and saps it!"

Pulling out the rest of their secret stash from out of the walls, they piled up the toolbox. Hastily slamming the over-filled drawers shut, a muffled grunt signalled Pyro leaving Demo on guard, the plump mercenary jogging up to the bridge with a slight sound of clatter from the supplies hoisted on their hip.

Watching them jump down off the corner, Demo shifted on his feet, trying not to overbalance from the not unpleasant hum of numbness that now ran through his legs. The man moved out onto the ledge overlooking the corner of the lane, crouching down on guard and deciding to stay on point in case of another attack.

'Where's our lot got to anyhow?..Should'ave met up with Solly by now at least…'

Raised voices caught his attention, and had him reflexively withdrawing further into the cover of the doorway, straining to recognise the voices through the now steady hum of euphoria coursing through his veins.

A low drawl that sounded an awful lot like their own spook echoed out from behind the wall, but then again he could never be too sure considered how much the two French dandies looked alike.

'Hee..ye'd think they'd be making them all in a factory somewhere..like wee little dollies..'

Letting out a quiet chuckle, he listened closer to the ongoing chatter, and what sounded like someone shifting gear?

Straightening up, Tavish grimaced as took in the sounds of a quiet, nasal snigger, punctuated by an easy wheezing laugh that was closer to his position. The smell of cloves wafting through his nostrils confirmed his growing suspicion that it wasn't their spy.

'All of that fancy menthol shite he's switched to follows him about like a pack of bad breath mints..' he groused internally, wrinkling his sensitive nose in disgust at the memory. Leaning back on his haunches against the doorway, he concentrated on zoning in on what on the enemy Spy and Engineer were saying.

It was at that moment that his wooden 'replacement' chose to let out a loud protesting creak as he leaned his weight back.

He froze suddenly, biting his lip in muffled shock.

'Aw Christ..tell me they didn't hear tha'..'

But the squeak and whirr of the teleporter starting up below him thankfully covered up the guff, with the backstabber and the toymaker prattling on blessedly unaware.

"Ach, that was close…." he breathed, shooting the prop a glare that could kill a lesser man.

'Ye bloody pile o' splinters….Ah'ma gonna break you over that prancin' bunny's haid when this is all over an' done with..'

"Did you happen to see that bunch of cowards though mon ami?"

'Wha?'

A low chuckle came in response, the Frenchman continuing with a snide tone.

"You would think that they had sent mere children to fight us, the way they ran off! And that monstrosity, mon dieu! The way it practically waddled off after our Soviet friend tore him a new posterior!" he cried, collapsing into a fit of restrained cackles as the engie wheezed alongside him.

"Ya sure don't see something like that very often," came the amused reply.

'Oi!..ye filthy pile a' jobbies!..Tha's me mate ye're talkin' about..bowfin, cheese-eating scunner….' the inebriated mercenary internally fumed, 'not tha' cheese is bad..' he drawled, trailing off into his own fuzzy drunken thoughts.

"And that Demoman, scrambling away on that cheap pantomime prop! Surely he's not drunk himself legless before noon?" snorted the man derisively.

"Ah, you know what them Demomen are like. Shucks, I don't think I've even seen our own 'resident expert' fully sober," remarked the texan with a snort. A dull clank could be heard as a toolkit was set down, probably a dispenser from the dull buzz that emanated from the corner.

'..you're bad!..an' ye smell of rotten cheese..'

"True," came his reply. "Still, even with his rotted brain, you would think the wretch would at least have better fashion sense."

'and..an' cigarettes..an'..wha?'

Growling, Tavish felt his famous, mercurial temper begin to rise, but he fought back down the Aberdeen blood boiling in his veins as he eased back against the doorframe.

'No!..No!..Gotta wait f'r reinforcements..no point jumping the gun before the lads're ready..Ah'll be havin' you though, ye fetid, back-stabbing bawbag!..You an' that fat fud..'

"Well, ya should probably scoot along now. Sure there's some poor devil you can set your sights on," ushered the Engineer, tapping away at one of his buildings.

A hum of agreement came from the direction of that strong odour, the sound of a sharp intake of air signifying the man taking a long drag on his cigarette, before he added dismissively, " Indeed, our little moment of respite has passed, has it not? No doubt the slovenly imbeciles will be back for another round soon.."

'What?'

Trying to keep in the steaming rage, the man's face bulged as hot air seethed through clamped lips.

'imbecile..'

His feet itched and jigged, his arms jostled, barely containing their bloodlust, and he viciously held back the storm of murderous thoughts threatening to consume him.

'wretch..'

Every word and barb swamped his head, bubbling and swelling into a maelstrom of insults and fury.

Amidst the chaos of his bitten tongue, the spy's parting words seeped between the pounding of his ears.

" Well..off to take care of that filthy bushman."

And that undid it.

"YA BLEEDIN'!"

A roar of outrage burst from his lungs, rushing out and down on top of the poor unsuspecting pair as the pent up cocktail of alcohol, booze and mood swings gushed forth. Blood spurted violently from the flurry of severed limbs, and with no chance to react the two were left screaming as the madman chopped them to pieces. In the stillness that followed, the rasping pant of breath was the only accompaniment to the steady drip of the blood falling off theClaidheamh Mòr to pool at the Scot's feet.

With a savage lurch, the man leant forward, bellowing at the now crimson pile of BLU corpses and shattered kit.

"Nobody talks about mah man like that in front of me! Yah hear?!"

Hearing no retort from the silent mercenaries, he grinned wickedly, throwing back his head and laughing uproariously.

'It serves yah right!'

"Engie!"

Twisting left, all of the man's bravado near melted away at the sight of the other Soldier coming up the stairs, looking for all the world like he'd just eaten one of his teammates for breakfast from the state of his fatigues. One incredulous look at the carnage the Demoman had wrought, and the Scot knew he meant business from the murderous intent written on his face.

'An' me without me gun..' Tavish mused ironically, tensing as the enraged enemy brought his launcher to bear.

Backpedalling around the corner franticly, the Scot raised his battered shield in a desperate attempt to defend against the brunt of the impact. His peg-leg caused him to flail about miserably round the narrow corner, and even with the sentry behind him he knew the cold grasp of Respawn wouldn't be far off.

But the second shot never came. And neither did the sentry fire for that matter.

Stumbling backwards and finally falling in flat on his arse, the Demo looked around bewilderedly, trying to make sense of what happened.

The Soldier lay strewn down the lane, spread out with his rocket launcher now lying uselessly in his outstretched hand.

'What the?'

A guttural laugh cut him off from his confusion, making him turn towards the tower, where his lover now stood waving in salute.

Breaking into a grin, the man began to laugh along, continuing to bray like an idiot even up until the point where Engie was scolding him to get him darn ass up and back to base.


End file.
